young blood
by quorra laraex
Summary: In which Spirit feels the need to have the "talk" about his daughter with Soul. — "Once in a lifetime, you'll meet someone who's iridescent, and different, and beautiful in all ways possible. And when you find that someone, you don't let her go—ever."


Soul never understood Spirit. He's crazy, bizarre, and completely incapable of demonstrating poise and reluctance for having Soul as his daughter's comrade. Never did Soul come up to him to talk to him about anything—not that he _needed_ to; there was nothing Spirit could do that Soul could not. The white-haired teen avoided the clingy and semi-perverted father as much as he could, and was surprised when the older death scythe had found him, a serious expression planted on his usual unreasonable face. He looked at Soul glumly, and told him they needed to talk, and he observed the dark voice unraveled deleteriously with an odd dose of dread creeping on it.

Spirit gestures Soul into an empty classroom in Shibusen with a simple quick wave of his arm, and the teen can feel the gulp getting caught in his throat as a knot wraps in his stomach. He's never seen Maka's father this way; _serious_. It's unlikely, and the vibe he gets is tense.

He takes a seat on a desk as he watches the overprotective father sit on a chair backwards, his legs sprawled on opposite sides of the back cushion for the support. He takes a few deep heaves of air and watches the young weapon as he stares him down.

Still. Soul _still_ doesn't understand what's up the guy's ass or what's making him this way. To be frank, it was giving him chills, and he didn't like it.

"Let's cut to the chase," Soul began uneasily. "What is it you want?"

If he's going to say he wants his daughter back, or to live with her again, Soul knows there's no way in hell he's giving up his technician to a stupid, ignorant father. Maka wouldn't agree either—

His thoughts are cut short when the man continues.

"Maka…" He hesitates, cherishing the name on his tongue as he looks upward, his memories cascading his mind. "My Maka… She's a beauty, isn't she?"

Shit, where was this guy headed? "S-sure," he responds almost too awkwardly. What did Spirit even expect? The question did catch him quite off guard. Coming down to think of it as the silence swept the two away, Soul has recognized some of Maka's features. He wasn't going to lie to himself, nor necessarily planned to tell the truth to her parent. But yes, Maka Albarn was attractive, and his mind left it at that.

(or well, it _tried_ to)

His gaze shifts, and he's thinking of her again. Soul's thinking of her ashy blond hair, falling down her shoulders at the most rare times she'll take out those damn bands that hold them up. He didn't understand that, either—why she wore her locks like that. It wasn't _bad_, it was just pretty strange to him. An image of the meister flashes in the boy's mind. She's smiling, a genuine kind of smile, filled with benevolence and screams friendly. Soul decides he likes her smile, her lips, her teeth. He notices how she only beams at odd times, like when she receives a good test score or when she has enough time to sleep, and she'll continuously say she needs an exact amount of nine point two-five hours of rest or she'll wake up in a haze of exhaustion. And he realizes that he might never understand the Albarns.

But it's okay, regardless—because he likes it this way. She's a mystery, a puzzle; she's challenging, amusing, stubborn and _irritating_, just like her father; and she is also something else. She's absolutely outrageous and she drives him berserk with her stupid, petty remarks, but she's flawless. It's exactly what she happens to be, he makes a mental note of it.

He remembers her silk emerald orbs, and how lost he could feel when staring into them for too long. It's like a forest with the leafy green trees and stems of brown making a thin circle around the main rim of colour. He shakes his head. He needs to stop fantasizing.

"You're—now what—seventeen?" he mutters almost incomprehensibly.

No shit. "Yeah." Soul can feel his fingers flick lightly against the wooden desks, clasping the edges and unclasping. His grip tightens and loosens every tick of the clock. He's nervous.

"So you and my daughter have…" He hesitates, uncomfortably, but his gaze remains locked on Soul's. The death glare creates an even rougher tension as the boy begins to shuffle in his seat.

"N-no," he stammers a bit too loudly. "It's nothing like that. W-we aren't like—"

The father's eyes harden. "Cut it, Evans."

They feel the silence slashing through the atmosphere, and it's awkward, if it hadn't been already and Soul hopes for an emergency to be rung out or to just have some malfunction with the school just to get out of this sly situation, but to his dismay, nothing happens.

"I know you, Evans. You're pretty impulsive and pretty _re_pulsive, might I add." He didn't give him even the slightest hesitation where Soul could cut in with obvious indignation. He has Soul pinned, and the teen knows it's hard to maneuver out of this mental grip. "Now, I'm not here to continuously insult you."

He reminds Soul of Stein with this mischievous surrounding.

"I'm just here to warn you." A smirk pries on his lips as he breaks the gaze. "I'm not a stupid teacher. I hear things about you… and girls."

"That's not any of your business," his shark-like teeth gnaws at his gum, cautious of the direction Spirit was heading towards.

The red-head ignores his comment. "'Lotta girls like you, eh, Evans?"

Soul shrugs. Sure, he's thinking. Girls _did_ leave notes or invitations in or on his locker. He was asked to go out to dinner or lunch a couple of times. Those were dates? He never really looked into them or anything. They just shared a meal, or a movie, or a ride on his motorcycle—_or_ a kiss, _or_ tongue action… _or_ a bed. Oh. He shoves his hand into his light spiky tresses, attempting to resemble a cool composure, but his doubts tell him the father can see right through him. He hopes his eyes remain collected throughout the entire conversation.

"We're alike."

His eyebrows arch and Soul cracks a snicker. He can't handle it.

"Hey, I was attractive, back then, not that I'm not now," he flusters like the usual self he and Maka had been used to. He comes back from the edge, and his wide mouth slowly becomes a straight line. The transformation's incredible. "My partner, she was beautiful; Kami was beautiful. She's just like Maka, you know? She was clever, and witty. Kind of annoying, I remember. But she was the smartest person I knew, she was the greatest. I loved her, but I lost her."

Each word that wisped out of his lips clung to Soul, passing through his ears and staying in his mind for what seemed like hours. He listens, instead of brushing it off this time. The words—they're wisdom—and they drown him. Today is different between the two of them. He does this unconscious kind of nod, prodding for Spirit to go on. He's curious.

"I lost her because of the things I did," he stops for a few seconds, his orbs averting upwards in what seems like regret, and his eyes are suddenly a different shade. They're greyer, the blue is suffocating and his voice cracks a bit, but they both ignore it. "I was so reckless. I didn't even know I was hurting her every time."

And for once, Soul understands. He understands why he's brought him here, why he's talking to him about this, and why he's being warned. He knows, and he feels the guilt trickling up his spine from the sick feeling in his stomach. It's not that bad, though. He likes this conversation—if he had to admit it, at least. This is a talk he would never receive from his own father. There would never be a person who would guide him in the right directions, to help him distinguish right from wrong, or just a person who could pat him on the back and say a simple '_Hey kid, you'll make it far_'. It's exactly what his whole childhood lacked, thanks to his over-achieving brother, and his high-expecting parents. And now, he's sitting on this plain desk in the middle of an empty classroom, getting advice and support with a father-son conversation from the most unexpected person.

"You guys are young. You have young blood, don't waste your energy trying to find more. Don't make the same mistakes I did."

His eyes soften, and so does his composure. He feels like he's losing it, but it's okay; it will be okay. He doesn't need to impress anyone here.

"Once in a lifetime," Spirit begins with a quiet voice. "You'll meet someone who's iridescent, and different, and beautiful in all ways possible. And when you find that someone, you don't let her go—_ever_. Remember that, Soul."

And with those last words hanging in the atmosphere like flowing oxygen, Spirit takes a stand from his seat and strolls out the door. Soul relaxes.

"Will do, sir," he smiles by himself. "Will do."

* * *

**A/N:** fun fact-I was listening to Young Blood by The Naked and Famous when I was writing this. :)


End file.
